


The Morning After

by ZaliaChimera



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Creepy, Dark, Death, Espionage, F/M, Kissing, Mission Fic, Necrophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 18:39:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaliaChimera/pseuds/ZaliaChimera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint doesn't usually kiss and run, but sometimes sacrifices have to be made for a mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morning After

"Well, it's been fun sweetheart," Clint says as he rolls out of bed and begins the search for the pants that he'd so hastily discarded the previous night. She doesn't reply and he's not surprised. It had been pretty wild and he's a little surprised that _he's_ up for talking if he's honest. 

He finds his pants underneath a chair in the corner of the hotel suite and he pulls them up quickly. He hadn't bothered with underwear and they hang low on his hips. Makes him look younger, he knows, kind of eager, kind of desperate, just the way she liked them.

He glances back at the bed where she's still laying, smiles warmly at her. "Sorry I have to go," he says, and where the hell has his t-shirt gone? He hadn't exactly been paying attention to where his clothes went while she tore them off him. His fingers fall to one of the grazes on his chest, where her fingernails had scraped over his skin. The sting feels good, makes him shiver pleasantly with the memories. "I don't normally fuck and run," he says lightly, amusement curling in his voice, "but places to go, people to see. You know how it is."

He finds her dress beneath the bed and searches it quickly for the flash drive that he knows should be there somewhere. Nothing. Huh.

He chews on his lip for a moment, peering up at her from where he's crouched on the floor next to the bed. "If you were an arms dealer," he says thoughtfully, reaching up to give her hand a gentle squeeze, "where would you hide your contact files?" He gives a lopsided smile, fingers trailing up along her arm to the crook of her elbow. "Oh wait..." he adds, a soft, slightly strained giggle escaping his lips. He raises her wrist to his lips, pressing a kiss to it.

He thinks back to the night before, when he'd first slipped his arms around her at the party; the silk dress beneath his fingers, her hair against his cheek and the cool press of her jewel...

He looks sharply over towards the dressing table, eyes narrowing. She'd shoved him away for a moment after she undressed, laughing when his hands found her hips again, slid down over her thighs, and her necklace, she'd taken such care with her necklace.

He drops her hand without thought or care and pushes himself back up to head over to the dressing table. The necklace is still there, a heavy, ugly gold thing that he'd hated on sight. He turns it over in his hands, runs his fingers over it until he spots it, yeah, there it is, a seam. It takes a moment and a split nail but then it's open and he can slide out the tiny flash drive. He smirks as he slips it into the hidden pocket in the cuff of his jacket. Neat and tidy.

Then it's just a matter of finding his shirt, and he wasn't sure how it had ended up thrown over the bathroom door but he thinks he vaguely remembers stumbling in there after the first round of sex and it was a fifty-fifty chance whether he'd still been wearing it at that point.

Didn't really matter now.

He stetches, yawning widely and rolling his shoulders to work out a little of the stiffness. "Gotta hand it to you," he says, heading back over to the bed to clear up the last little bits of mess, "you really know how to give a guy a workout."

He crawls back onto the bed, hand brushing up her side, over the curve of her breast as he leans over to kiss her. Her lips are slightly parted and he slides his tongue against them, between them. "Still warm," he says quietly when he pulls away, smirking.

The syringe is where he left it on the bedside table. He covers the end of the needle and bags it carefully, slipping it into a pocket. He makes the call as he's pulling on his boots, murmuring his access code. The new comm devices are pretty nifty he thinks; an earpiece and a pad against his throat which captures the softest whisper.

"What's your status, Barton?" Coulson's tone is as clipped as ever, and Clint grins when he hears it.

"All done, Sir. Ten minutes."

"Make it five."

"Yes sir."

It clicks off and Clint finishes tying his laces.

"Well, looks like that's my cue to leave," he says quietly, and he brushes his fingers through her hair. He leans over to kiss her again, lips lingering on hers for a long moment. "We should do this again sometime," he says, smiling softly.

The smoke alarm is already blaring by the time he makes it to the fire exit. Amazing the damage smoking in bed can do.


End file.
